


Pockets

by GamerMattJeevas (BrassOctopi)



Series: Autobiographical Poems of an Anxious Bibliophile [6]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Poetry, local boy realizes the bullshit that is female marketed pants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-24 08:26:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19719925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrassOctopi/pseuds/GamerMattJeevas
Summary: My brother and I had an interesting conversation one morning.





	Pockets

My brother sits at the dining room table, laptop open

for news. He is wearing the jeans that he stole from me two years ago.

I sit on a barstool nearby, cat winding around my feet, five dollar

sweatpants from the men’s section at Target engulfing

my thin legs. I watch him, intrigued by the little gestures he makes

at people who cannot see him.

He looks up from the screen to tell me he will not be giving

my jeans back. This is fine by me – I have two identical pairs

and I hate denim.

He continues that they are comfortable, not as baggy

as boy jeans. I bite my tongue against a counter that most boys

are not stick thin like he is. I worry about his double joints.

“But kid,” he tells me, giving me a look

as though I called up Mr. Strauss himself and asked him

to design jeans to inconvenience my brother specifically, “the pockets.”

I know, and he knows I know, for we have this discussion once a month,

more in summer. They are designed so we will buy purses,

designed so as to show off the curves women are supposed to have.

He protests that he has no curves, and only wants his wallet,

plain black and thin with a hungry bank account.

That is not my problem, nor Mr. Strauss’, but he continues

to rant, a newly ordained pastor to a tired cardinal.

His genius is baffled by jeans that can only fit lipgloss

and sweats that could hold a cheeseburger.

My brother sits at the dining room table wearing the jeans

he stole from me, and a similarly filched black faux-leather purse

holding his tiny wallet and copious trading cards.

I sit on a barstool nearby in five dollar sweatpants

from the men’s section at Target, sipping black coffee

and marveling at the tenacity of this quiet man.

**Author's Note:**

> My brother's a brilliant human being, but he also isn't very observant.


End file.
